...Into The Fire

Content Warning - This one isn't for the kids

Signar squatted in the dank, gritty cell, holding his only possession the sword he had been ‘gifted’ in his first fight. The only light came from the crevices in the rusted steel door, casting harsh slants of illumination over everything. To any passing guard, he was nothing more than a vaguely humanoid heap of clay and dirt. But within him, a war burned hotter than any molten core.

He was a Moltin—a creature pulled from the ground itself, bound and shaped by his own will. He had gone over the memories of his life, the time before the arena. Then he had a purpose, and now his existence here had one aim: to survive. No, he had another purpose. Revenge.

He clenched his hands, watching the way his mud-like flesh oozed around his knuckles. Pain was not a concept foreign to him, and neither was fear. Today, they’d told him, he’d be fighting a Stinge.

“Signar!” the guard barked, metal feet clanking against the stone as he approached. The harsh, robotic voice sounded almost amused, as though today’s entertainment was something even the droids savored. “Rise, Mud Man. Your battle awaits.”

Signar lifted himself, mud dripping from his body and slapping against the floor. He followed the guard’s lead as they made their way through narrow, twisting corridors that led up to the arena. His pulse throbbed in rhythm with the roaring crowd above, an anticipation that set his form rippling and trembling.

Z had approached in the darkness. “The most important thing, other than winning, is to give them a show.”

“A show?” Signar wondered how much more than this bloodsport did the spectators want?

“Something no one has seen before, that gets you attention, and gifts!”

“And you credits.” Signar spat the words, he had no delusions who was helping who, and why.

The gate scraped open, spilling sunlight over him, and he stepped into the blistering glare of the alien sun. The arena’s roar swelled at the sight of him—a monstrous patchwork of mud, muscle, and mystery. He could barely make out the throngs of onlookers, all blurred in the hazy heat that shrouded the vast stone enclosure.
Across from him, emerging from a separate gate, was his opponent. The Stinge.

The creature was a vicious thing, as tall as Signar but lean, built of wiry muscles coiled for swift, deadly strikes. Its green skin shimmered with a dark, sheen that seemed to pulse with fiery veins. And the eyes—those eyes blazed with a malicious intelligence that was different from the mindless beast he’d already fought. Signar let Z earlier tell him tales of the Stinge. They were fire-breathers, agile, and cruel. He had no doubt this one would make his death as spectacular as possible.

The crowd fell silent for a breath as the two opponents sized each other up. Signar could feel the Stinge’s gaze raking over him, calculating, measuring. He could almost sense its satisfaction in finding a foe that could be so easily reduced to sludge.

With a savage cry, the Stinge lunged, springing toward him with terrifying speed. Signar barely managed to pull himself into a hardened stance, bracing for impact as the creature collided with him. The blow sent him skidding back, chunks of his form splattering off. The crowd jeered and cheered, watching with thrill as pieces of him spattered the ground. His sword was knocked away before he could even begin to swing.
But he was still whole. He pulled himself back together, an odd defiance building within him.

The Stinge snarled, annoyed by Signar’s refusal to stay broken, and struck again, this time bringing up a scalding hot fist. The creature’s hand connected with Signar’s chest, burning through his torso like a red-hot iron. The mud sizzled and hissed, emitting an acrid steam, but Signar’s core held. He seized the Stinge’s arm, pulling it deeper into his chest, allowing the creature to burn through him while he enveloped it.

Signar squeezed, clamping down with his full weight. He felt a slight satisfaction as he heard a faint crack, the Stinge’s arm breaking under the pressure.

But the Stinge was unrelenting. With a guttural roar, it jerked its arm free, spitting a torrent of flame directly into Signar’s face. The fire licked across his features, searing hot. He could feel his exterior evaporating, the vital essence of his form evaporating into nothingness.

Instinctively, he summoned his strength and lunged, slamming into the Stinge and focusing his thrust around its feet hoping to topple his enemy. But the Stinge only sneered, its lips curling as if in amusement.

And then came the flame—unstoppable, all-consuming. The Stinge exhaled with full force, its fire engulfing Signar entirely. It was not just a flame; it was an inferno, a wall of searing heat so intense the spectators held up hands, paws, mandibles and the like to shield themselves from it.

The crowd erupted in wild applause as Signar’s form went red from the heat then blackened like so much overcooked flesh, yet shiny like obsidian.
The Stinge stood victorious, basking in the cheers, the heat of battle lingering around him.

Even in the cacophony of cheers and din of celebration, an ear shattering CRACK startled all into immediate silence.

More violent breaks sounded, as the steaming pile of death, as Signar, broke free. He was now forged from simple mud, into an armored form, his mind feral from the pain and heat. The Stinge had but moments to react, but it was caught off-guard. With all his fury, Signar bashed, his very body a nearly unbreakable weapon, jagged sharp edges tearing into his enemy’s flesh.

The Stinge of course tried to defend itself, but it’s fire blast meant nothing now, and Signar’s rage made the once formidable creature a broken and dying pulp in mere moments. The crowd loved every moment of it, cheering with renewed zeal for the proverbial underdog. Signar retrieved his sword, murmuring under his breath, “Something they haven’t seen before.”

Mercilessly he decapitated the Stinge, then cleaved the head in two. Signar began eating the brain of the fallen enemy, and as he had guessed this was something unexpected for the crowd. They again went silent in shock, but only for a few moments, then began shouting, screaming a new, chanting over and over…

“SIGNAR! SIGNAR! SIGNAR!”